‘The Bridgewater’, now laying mainly idle, stands only as a sarcophagus to Celtic Tiger hubris with its most anaemic quality being its fossilised inhabitants
With one foot in the grave, they stubbornly refuse the other one’s arrival in Hedes without one last admonishment for the minimum wage barista over the cleaning bleach stinging their cavernous, furry nostrils
Next door, the commodity fetishists circle like ravenous, drooling buzzards around the latest shuttered multinational store, swooping to pick its decaying carcass of precious sweatshop tat already destined for the nearest teeming carpark clothes bin
The local Blueshirt, having lost 10,000,000 Euro down the back of the couch himself, weeps crocodile tears for the loss of low-paid, precariat
An empty-suited politician for an empty-calories electorate, serving merely as a bankrupt avatar of a bankrupt society
The banshees of Turas Nua wail “full employment” as they march the fresh meat to the slaughterhouse. “A position is available wiping wrinkly arses down in Bunclody. Must provide own transport!”
Late-stage capitalism→technofeudalism, one hell of a ride!
